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Posts Tagged ‘mishap’

I hate to use a David Bowie song lyric in connection for the horror that is to follow, but I couldn’t think of any other songs about furry monsters (though I seem to vaguely recall one from Sesame Street….).

As many of you know, my disdain and dislike for Karl Lagerfeld is profound. Just when I thought I could not loathe his pretentious, egomaniacal, consistently-hideous work at the poor, beleaguered House of Chanel any more, he goes and does this:

Is he kidding? Is anyone really going to wear this crap?

These people look like mascots for a fast-food joint specializing in wooly mammoth burgers.

I feel bad for Chanel fans– if I were one, I’d be mortally offended at the very idea that I might be such a fashion victim/label sheep (you should pardon the reference to something that needs shearing…) that I would actually wear any of this foulness. If Uncle Karl had a sense of humour, I might be able to try to understand this collection, but I have never seen him exhibit the slightest hint of a comedic sensibility. Ever. This guy takes himself very seriously. (Minute 2:30 in the video in that link.)

The kicker?
This is not a couture collection (couture is supposed to be outrageous– outrageous and beautiful, but that last is not a quality Karl’s work very often achieves)– it is the A/W 2010 ready-to-wear line!

Okay, I am sorry for having made you look at all that ugliness. Here is a little peace offering, to make you feel better:

All photos from here.

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YYZ: Rainy Days and Mondays…

…always get me down. And, today, I managed to bring my good friend S down along with me.

I had no idea what to wear this morning; am still trying to cope with work-appropriate/can be worn with one Faux-kinstock and one giant plastic walking cast problem.  I trotted out this very old dress and topped it with the usual shrug. Was not too displeased with the result.

My lovely friend S had volunteered not only to chauffeur me to work this morning, but also to pick up Starbucks coffee on the way. I am not a Starbucks person at all and have yet to master their confusing sizing lingo— I’m from a small, working-class town, the kind of town where coffee came in “Small,” “Medium” or “Large,” not “Tall,” “Grande” or “Venti.” I have NO IDEA what those mean.
Long story longer: I got in the car this morning and S and I drove to school, chatting on the way. I saw the two coffees, one in size normal, one in size HUGE. The former appeared to have been sipped a bit. I thought to myself, “Oh, shit– I have got the darned Starbucks sizes wrong AGAIN, and have managed to have S get me a gigantic coffee instead of a small one.” But, as mine was an Americano and I am never sorry to have a good, strong cup of coffee, it was no big deal.

Just as we arrived at school, the heavens opened and we got that kind of rain that makes it look like you are underwater. Great timing. I had two big bags of stuff to haul in (there is a LOT of packing and unpacking that goes along with clearing out one’s office space prior to a sabbatical!), so I grabbed the enormous coffee and my umbrella and lurched out of the car, putting the coffee on the roof of the car whence I could grab it easily once I had loaded myself up with all my gear.

Can you see where this is going?
Well, I couldn’t.

As I leaned into the back seat to grab my stuff, my umbrella moved forward, hitting the giant cup of coffee…. Gravity and my position, half-in and half-out of the car, did the rest. The next thing I knew, the entire cup of coffee was pouring over me. Into my hair, onto my dress, into my shoe, into Frank.  Strangely (and luckily!), S’s car was spared– it’s a new car, so spilled coffee with milk in it would NOT be a welcome addition to the upholstery!

Turning to see what fresh catastrophe I had wrought, S realized that I had not grabbed MY coffee at all:
it was HER coffee.

Poor S– she was crestfallen. This is a woman who has the kindest, most generous heart and who LOVES her coffee. Which we were watching soak into my dress and run away down the slope of the parking lot, washed away by the downpour….
What a crappy start to the day: my outfit (and personal hygiene– nothing like reeking like soured milk all day!) and her morning java jolt, literally down the drain, all thanks to my idiocy. Get the feeling S won’t be sorry to see me go on leave?

So, good thing I took a photo of this favourite old dress– today may well have been its last outing!
Added fun-n-games? A trip to the ‘loo when I got inside the building revealed that the bodice of my dress was soaked, not just the front of the skirt, as I had thought, and the top left side was rendered completely transparent as a result. I can’t wear a bra with this dress, so…..
Also? It was not until I got home that I realized that Frank had taken more of a hit than I had initially thought. Just what Frank needed, a little sour milk/coffee aroma to add to his already ferocious odour of sweaty foot and Chinese liniment. Mmmmmm–deeeeeeeeeeeelish!

Dress: Le Chateau
Shrug: Smart Set
Cuff: H&M
Shoe: SoftMoc


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Okay, so the song in the title is about “fairytales can come true,” but I could not resist using it.
Procrastinating about doing my marking taking a much needed break as I convalesce, I stumbled upon the hoo-hurrah around Michelle Obama’s blue dress. (Meh— I think her make-up is a bit de trop for a lady of her vintage… a slightly subtler, sheerer shade on her eyelids might have looked a bit classier and more elegant. Also, the corsetry combined with the Grecian draping thing is just not working for me… Still, this woman would look great in a paper bag, so this dress is not a tragedy, or anything. 🙂 )

BUT, I also found this little gem!
Forget about the Obamas, focus instead on the Official Greeter  Girl in the rosy-coloured dress as she makes her entrance!

See? It can happen to anyone!
Slippery shoes + slippery floors = sudden burst of gravity.
(And you thought I wasn’t good at math!)

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YYZ: Bootylicious

Right, LHR really has to start posting now, as I am sporting a truly hideous accessory: the giant, black, plastic air-cast. It is gonna be mighty tough coming up with outfits that incorporate this baby, so fire up your camera and your computer, LHR!

Yep, my foot is broken.

Here is a view of my chic new foot wear:

Note the cunning cat-hair garnish...

"I'm gonna PUMP you UP!" Terribly high-tech, non?

Apparently, I am not out of the woods yet– more x-rays next Wednesday will determine whether more drastic action has to be taken or not, so keep your fingers and toes crossed that all heals well and quickly!

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Remember these shoes?

Toyed with not wearing them today, but decided to go for it– I had Sewing Club after school, so I packed flats to wear while racing around, trouble-shooting and pretending to know how to fix broken sewing machines.

On my way to homeroom this morning, in a hurry (as usual), I fell (quite literally!) victim to a lethal combination of slippery shoe-soles and slippery parquet flooring.
Before you could say “sudden burst of gravity,” I was down, as if I had been pole-axed.

Yep, the inevitable finally happened:
I fell off my shoes and sprained my ankle.
(I hope! There is a small chance my foot may be broken– only time will tell.)
I am, truly, a Fashion Victim.

BMad (like a knight in shining armour!) must’ve heard me go down (it was a noisy, clattering affair, involving me using my laptop to break my fall…), because he was back around the corner in seconds flat, to find me sprawled in abject humiliation
(score one for leggings footless tights: had I not been wearing them, my position would have been compromising, indeed!)
on the floor, amid startled students who, to their credit, managed not to laugh at me
(not in my presence, anyway– darling girls. LF, you are a model of discretion!).

I hobbled back to my office, leaning on BMad as if I were some consumptive heroine in a 1930s movie. The school nurse was summoned, colleagues fussed, my foot was bound and iced and elevated and I swallowed some ibuprofen.  Within about 30 minutes, however, my foot had swelled to a rather impressive size and it was pretty apparent that, while I could certainly teach my classes from a seated position, getting to and from my classrooms was going to present a fairly serious problem.
(If only I had payed closer attention in Teleportation Class as a child!)

They sent me home.

Could I go quietly and unobtrusively? O, no, not I.
BMad had to summon the golf cart to have me driven to his car so he could chauffeur me home, as my mishap precludes both my walking to the parking lot and my driving myself.
Where did the golf cart pick us up? Right outside the windows of my Grade 10 students’ Civics class, much to their amusement. What could I do but give them a wave worthy of Elizabeth Regina II as I was whizzed away on my electric rescue vehicle?

And so, Gentle Readers, I am become a cautionary tale:
VERY TALL, VERY SLIPPERY shoes and VERY FANCY, HIGHLY-POLISHED wooden floors do not good bedfellows make.

Right, off to ice my foot.

(Fear not! I checked and my shoes are FINE. Nary a scratch or dent! Whew!)

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